


Driftwood Blue

by thescyfychannel



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Sadstuck, growing up is hard to do, losing your moirail is worse, no quirks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 10:43:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescyfychannel/pseuds/thescyfychannel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She used to come to you before she'd go to anyone else. And now you're scared to face her ever again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Driftwood Blue

She used to come to your hive when she was upset. It was the first place she would swim for, after fighting with a friend, or running across a seadweller who glared at her (she never deserved that, if only they’d _met_ her), she would swim up and you would pull her into your arms as she cried. It never lasted long, she hated giving in to the tears, but you never minded having to rinse watery fuschia out of your clothing. Eventually, she would calm down enough to talk, and you would smile at her, then suggest a project. More often than not, the two of you would wind up sprawled out on the floor, repairing a net or making a new one. Her hands were faster, better at the delicate work, but your knots were strong and sturdy. The two of you had it down to a science. You used to joke that if you both ran away from your duties, you could make a steady living off of it, together. She would laugh, and you both would plan—the shop would be blue, and you would use driftwood, shells, seaglass—and for a moment you forgot who you were, lost in her smile. “Driftwood,” she would say, “There would alwaves be a driftwood fire in the hearth, for any travelers who came along!” And you would smile, already picturing the colors of the dancing flames.

  
She used to come to your hive when she was upset. But something changed in the both of you, and now she was the one calming you out of your rages (it never helped, all she did was tell you to change), and now she didn’t swim up when something hurt her. You rarely heard about her trouble anymore, and you never found out if it was because she no longer cared about them, or if she no longer cared to tell _you_. Your moiraillegiance was failing.

  
She used to come to your hive when she was upset, and you used to be the one to hold her close and comfort her. But now she’s lying across a pile of horns (it’s wrong, she should be on flowers or sand, if she has to be gone at all), and it’s your fault.

  
She used to come to you when she was upset, and this time she had—but not with teary eyes and another sad tale, but anger and fire, and the points of a trident.

  
And this time, you didn’t pull your cape around her and let her cry herself out, you didn’t pull out a torn net (that you might have torn yourself, just for more time with her), you didn’t laugh and talk about blue, driftwood fires, and a netmaker’s shop beside the seashore.

  
This time, you put a hole through her chest.


End file.
